Sacred Fallacy Poem by Iqbal Sonaullah

Give me no dreams of that false meadow
Across the horizon of sinking hope
Where you and I harvest equal honey;
Shrouded in your heart, I see
A decaying spark of discreetness,
Of creating a paradise for sacred alone
Deep down the fences of fading palace -
until the dawn sprouts from darkness -
Sacred and Tyrant share the bed;
At some distance though, I hear a cry
From the Khazir of ancient times
That this venture of resistance is one big lie.

Rhymes and blood in beloved homeland
Vend in a same fair.
Who, I wonder, has built the image
That robe and coronet
Is the attire of grace
Transcended through memory's fallacious script.
Virtues traverse not through inheritance
Nor does faith - or faithlessness,
Else I ought to remind you of Noah(AS)
And tinge the thread of your shallow ego
Why shall then a decedent be
Heir of any sanctified benevolence.

Rejoice, O accountable, until I demand,
Ransom of an unknown martyr;
On the Day - when past and future shall fuse
Into present; and no ecstasy,
Nor any wolf's desire
Shall dare speak; and there
I'll scuff my gruesome wound
In defiance of your royal wine
And seek revenge for my blood
Every drop you sold
For fame, for comfort
Vaguely your own

I exist
On the mercy of my own sacrifice;
Broken and bereft, cajoling my way
I shall walk alone, thus,
In pursuit of dawn
Through the passage of hovering mystery
Beneath the soil, above the Skies
Where I am the God
And the revered Angel
Guarding the gates of my disowned faith
For if Sacred be the eternal graceful
I then deny the unjust Heavens.